3 comments/ 22743 views/ 1 favorites Confessional By: kyrie1595 Written and edited with the help of an ex-catholic friend. This story may stir some controversy but then why write if it tastes like vanilla. * Raised in Boston to love, honor and obey his family and one-day to fulfill his spiritual calling, Tom O'Brien was the youngest of six American bred Irish children. Every Irish Catholic family dreams of the day that one of their children will be ordained into the priesthood, increasing the prospect of an eternal reward in Heaven for the parents, and Tom's parents were no exception. From the day of his First Communion at eight, Tom's father and mother began to chart his life of holiness and celibacy. There were the Altar and choir boy days, church attendance, Lenten fasts, plenary indulgences, self-denial, and the emphasis on learning Latin, all aimed to make Tom's entry into the Seminary at age thirteen inevitable. Although mapped from birth to a life of holiness, Tom did not always feel the spiritual calling. In fact he floated from one religious experience to the next with an ever-increasing carnal desire. His altar boy years had introduced him to his first sip of wine and the mixed boys and girls choir to Becky. Always the volunteers, Tom and Becky became choir loft items...she, young and promising, with little breasts beginning to develop and he having learned that his penis was for more than peeing. The clean-up choir loft duty brought new meaning to the term for both of them. Then there was the confessional; one day, quietly waiting his turn, he could hear the lascivious details of the ladies' sins in the opposite stall. By the time it was his turn he had more to confess as well as some cleaning-up to do. The seminary years between thirteen and twenty-five passed insidiously before the return of the Reverend Father Thomas O'Brien to one of Boston's oldest parishes. Father Tom came home to the church he loved and remembered from his childhood, a magnificent neo-gothic cathedral built before the turn of the last century. It was a huge, hollow, structure, longer than a football-field and half as wide, with a center dome 120 feet above the main altar. Flickering candles burned at each of 10 small altars and six darkly stained wooden confessionals, three on each side, lined the main isle. Massive arched wooden doors etched the main entrance and two rows of stained glass windows lined the walls, subduing the interior light and creating a constant state of Goth. In the empty air, sounds echoed in all directions with even the slightest of whispers heard throughout. The scents of fresh flowers, incense, and burned candles linger in the mostly still, cold air that welcomed Tom home. Even with his introduction to Asceticism, seminary training did little to obscure Tom's uncontrollable desires of the flesh. Rather the opposite occurred. He learned to enter a state of religious ecstasy from repeatedly beating himself with a flogger; twenty-four strips of tan colored kid leather dangling from a leather wrapped handle. Rather than control his carnal urges, he learned that the redemptive value of pain that made pain itself lovable. Self-flagellation, although intended to teach not of the flesh, made Tom's conflict of the flesh even greater. "Blessed be pain! Glorified be pain! Sanctified be pain," euphoric had pain become to Tom. And as if further cursed, Father Tom had grown into a hunk of a man. The years of lacrosse and soccer had matured him into every young girls dream date; muscular and cut with curly black hair, mascarred eyes, and a chiseled nose and chin. Over the years the confessional became a harmonic convergence of Tom's faith and carnal desires as the torment of the flesh clashed with the deviant behavior described to him by the many female penitents. Even as he scourged himself with the flogger in the evenings for the masturbatory desires the confessional often induced, his pain frequently transcended to a heightened state of arousal and orgasmic bliss. If the confessional lines were not full when Tom turned on the light, the isle would be packed within minutes with women of all ages wishing for him to hear their confession. **************************************************************** She came to him...always only to him. She needed to express her sins, be granted his forgiveness and find penance in God's eyes. Her sins ran deep and she knew that confessing, even now, would only bring her back again and again. She was born out of wedlock, a perpetual sinner forever finding the darkest course and following that path, until her guilt sends her to the closet of the confessional. She always confessed to Father Tom because she believed he was a source of her sins. In her own twisted way, she blamed him for her behavior, her promiscuity and carnal desires that set her flesh aflame. She longed to see what he hid under his robes, ached to taste his cock and yearned to feel him buried balls deep in her molten wet cunt. And here she was, once again, begging for forgiveness that would be granted if only for this moment. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession." Her voice low, and properly humble as she looked through the lattice, watching his still silhouette. "What brings you back so soon seeking God's forgiveness?" Father Tom spoke calmly in his conditioned confessional tone. "Father, I have once again defied one of Gods commandments, was seduced by depravity that soiled my soul and admit to receiving much pleasure from it." She heard the priest shift before his voice rolled out against the lattice, "Go on, and tell me all that has caused you to be here today." She buried her face in her hands as she whispered in mock shame through the separator. "Father, I allowed a man to spank my buttocks until I orgasmed. I hungered for his member, Father, and allowed this same man to put it in my mouth. I suckled him until he could no longer contain himself and allowed him to put his slick penis in my anus. Father, I know we are all born sinners, but I must be the worst of them all." Her confessions always started the same, halting and uncertain, as though holding back the darker side of her sin. He'd heard all manner of explicit descriptions, knew what she was trying to say without bringing herself even more shame and he longed to hear more. He shifted again, feeling his own cock growing as the images of her sin floated in his mind. "No child, you're not the worst, but to achieve the penance you seek, you must confess everything. Every detail, no matter how carnal and depraved." ************************************************************* She was just one of many female penitents that Father Tom listened to, granting the forgiveness they desired and then sent on their way. The litany of sin that passed through the lattice and filled his mind with images of carnal debauchery drove his own desires high. His evenings were spent in self-flagellation, doing little to wipe away the images forever imbedded not only in his mind, but in his soul as well. During his nightly ritual he often thought of Becky, the young budding girl that fanned the flames of his carnal desires. He clearly remembered their childhood games of 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours'. He remembered how soft her flesh looked, how sweet she smelled and how he longed to give up the life he was predestined to just for a taste of her. Becky was his first love and he thought about the woman she would be now with full breasts, slightly flaring hips and soft warm lips. He imagined her to be the epitome of perfection and what that perfection could do for him. As his thoughts burned with the images of the most recent confession and blending with images of the womanly Becky, his left hand moved to his stiff cock. Taking the throbbing member into his eager grasp and pumping it in the same rhythm of the flogger against his bare back. The pain erupting across his flesh and the pleasure of his fingers circling his cock were a cataclysmic sensation. In the back of his mind he knew what he was doing was wrong, all the teachings he'd endured over the years said so, but he couldn't help himself. Deep down he was a carnal being as lusty and depraved as those poor souls that were driven to his confessional. Thrusting his hips, moving his aching cock within his hand, his balls drawing up as his body began the familiar tingling. He was close, seconds away from his own sense of redemption as he redoubled his efforts with the biting flogger. Lingering at the edge of the abyss, taking the pain and wrapping it in the pleasure until he fell into oblivion, his cock twitching and spewing his seed across the floor. His gratification was laced with guilt and he beats himself harder, the sting more pronounced as he attempts to sear away the depravity of himself. "Blessed be pain! Glorified be pain! Sanctified be pain!" Even his sanctified mantra does little to assuage his lascivious guilt. Years of despair, frustration, and loneliness conflicted with Father Tom's desire to be at one with him. His chiseled face had softened somewhat and sprinkles of gray now highlighted his still youthful appearance. Through the years he had become accustomed to hearing the worst instincts of human nature but nothing had prepared him for the events about to unfold before him. *************************************************************** Her voice was once again humble and seeking forgiveness as she whispered. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession." She waited patiently for his customary reply. He was somewhat startled to recognize her voice. He'd only, one-week prior, listened to her confession and granted her the forgiveness she sought. Why was she back so soon? Could she have sinned so dramatically again? He cleared his throat before speaking, "What have you to confess my child?" "Father, I have once again been seduced by depravity. I allowed a man to whip me with a flogger, tasting its delightful sting across my buttock, thighs and back. Father, I allowed him to beat me until I felt as though I was aflame and an uncontrollable urge came upon me to engage in coitus behavior." He listened intently to her confession as his cock began to swell and did something he'd never done before. Moving his hand daringly over his growing member as he whispered, his voice somewhat hoarse with his own desire, "Go on my child. Confess all to God." This girl, this penitent soul, aroused him to the point of blasphemy as he brazenly squeezed his aching cock through his robes. "Father, I can't even begin to describe how wonderful the flogger felt, how liberating and glorious. Nor can I tell you how delicious his cock felt as he plunged it into the depths of me. My pussy aching to be filled, and filled it was, as he drove himself deeply into my hot velvet core. Father, even now as I confess to you, I can feel every sensation, smell every scent and taste every flavor." Her voice rising in pitch as her excitement grew with each devilish deed and word. He grew bolder, allowing his hand to slip under his robes and touch himself as this penitent girl and her confession drove him on. He longed to find the sanctuary of his bedchamber so he too could feel the liberating and glorious kiss of his flogger, feel the powerful and undeniable need to release his seed and find what little redemption there was for his ungodly behavior. He listened to the way her voice changed pitch, listened as her breathing became more erratic and knew if he pushed he could make her orgasm, right there, in the sanctity of the confessional. He dared to push as he whispered, "Confess it all my child, every detail. The penance you seek depends on it." She listened to him, noting how his own voice was growing more and more hoarse and desirous. She suspected he was touching himself, and longed to be the one touching. She ached for him, no other man had made her ache as he did, and her desire to stain him was greater than her desire to be forgiven. She shamelessly opened her creamy thighs, her scent wafting up to her nostrils as her fingers found her throbbing clit and slick quivering pussy. "I can't control this urge to sin, Father. Even now I want to touch myself, feel the slickness of my pussy wrapping around my fingers and find the release I ache for. The memories of my depravity drive me head long into the void Father and I'm not sure God can or will forgive me." As she spoke, she plunged first two then three fingers into the twitching cunt, her palm pushing against her throbbing clit as she began to fuck herself in the confessional. "Father, I ache to feel cock in my pussy, mouth and ass. I can't seem to go a day without bringing myself to orgasmic delight whether it is by masturbation or with a man." She ground her hips against her invading fingers and palm, seeking the orgasm that seemed just barely out of reach. He listened in rapturous delight as her confession grew in detail. He could smell her scent as it carried through the lattice divider, and could hear the wet sounds as her fingers moved, as deeply as possible, into the soaking pussy. His voice was broken in desire as he spoke, "Go on, and confess all." His own hand now wrapped around his exposed cock, feeling it throb against his palm as he slowly stroked it. The visions she'd implanted were filled with his own carnal desires. She panted softly as her hand worked her pussy. "Father, even now I can't seem to control myself. I have three fingers buried in my aching pussy and my palm is pressing against my raging clit. Father, I'm so very close to cumming and soiling the sanctity of your confessional." Her hand moved steadily onward, driving her closer to the release she yearned for. Her pussy contracting, suckling on the fingers imbedded in it, her clit aflame with a need so strong, the church, her Priest and God himself couldn't stop her. His voice was lodged in his throat as she described what she was doing right next to him. He ached to see, feel and taste this poor soul that found his confessional regularly. He could sense how close she was through the divider...the electricity was palpable. He released his throbbing aching cock, daring to hope that he wouldn't soil his own confessional, as she was about to do. He managed to find what was left of his voice, "Go on my child." "Ooooo, my pussy is tightening around my fingers and I've begun plucking and twisting my engorged nipples. Father, the sensations are extreme and filled with wickedness. Father, I'm about to cum in church, during confession with you sitting so very close, only this lattice separating us. Father, the only way this could be better is if you were in here with me, doing all these sinful things to me, but because of your vows, I'm left with imagining you fucking me." Her moan could be heard throughout the entirety of the church as her pussy spilled out around her finger, staining her skirt and soiling the confessional. As her breathing slowly returned to normal, she pulled her sticky fingers free and deliberately painted her scent over the lattice divider, whispering to the heavily breathing Priest she'd come to seduce, "Can you smell that Father?" Father Tom could indeed smell her scent as he tried desperately to control his breathing. Each inhale dripping of sex...her sex, and he wanted more. Whispering huskily, "Yes, I can smell your lusty and sinful scent." His cock twitched as her scent invaded his senses. "Can you taste me with each breath your take, Father?" She listened to his suffering just beyond the paltry lattice. He hissed hungrily, "Yes, I can taste your depravity upon my tongue." His tongue felt coated with her sin and he relished the flavor of her, his cock twitching once again begging to release his seed. "Father, do you remember Becky Monahan?" Her question was like cold water against his face, startling him back to his calling. Quickly regaining his tone of authority, "You have defiled this confessional, encouraged and instigated the lustful desires of the devil in me and tormented God himself. I do not think that a simple penance will be sufficient to grant either of us absolution. I want you to close your eyes and pray for God's forgiveness. I will return when I think you are ready." His verbal chastisement produced hot tears to well as she closed her storm colored eyes and began to whisper, but no prayer came from her soft crimson lips. ******************************************************************* Father Tom's thundering footstep could be heard reverberating in the church's vast emptiness as he strode from the confessional, heart pounding and eyes zigzagging erratically in all directions as he searched for remaining parishioners. It was early evening and a few late prayer goers were easily coaxed to leave before he dropped the ten-pound cast iron bolts into the terrazzo etched floor, locking the massive wooden doors at the front of the church. The last vestige of light filtered like long slivers of silk thread through the western facing row of stained glass windows. Hollow caves of flickering darkness illuminated the two isles of prayer altars on each side. Tom's prurient instincts drew him to fetch the flogger from his bedchamber before dropping to his knees in front of the altar to St. Jerome, the patron of asceticism, where Tom first learned of self-denial and punishment. "Blessed be pain! Glorified be pain! Sanctified be pain!" So it was to be, Father Tom would attempt to sanctify this woman in the only way he knew. He gripped the soft pliant handle of the flogger in his fist and moved through the empty stillness toward the indistinguishable litany of sound coming from the confessional. Opening the dark mahogany stained door, Father Tom stared in at the young woman, no older that twenty, kneeling with her hands clutching her face. A mixed fragrance of jasmine and sex wafted out. Long tresses of curly dark hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, briefly reminding him of his adolescence. Her sleeveless summer frock, held up by her young bosom and zippered down the back, was cinched tightly around her narrow waist with a cloth belt elaborately tied in back with a bow. Reaching for her, Father Tom pried her hand from her face. Her silhouette turned, mystical stormy eyes stared daringly at him. Father Tom's heart sank as he stared back at what appeared to be a heavenly apparition. It was Becky's face on the alluring body of this fully developed child-like woman. "Becky? Becky Monahan, how can it be?" Father Tom's eyes were filled with tears of wonder, his voice appropriately exasperated with the mystery that only such gothic surroundings might induce. Her face was angelic, lightly freckled and pale as porcelain, with tear-stripped pink rouged cheeks that could have been painted by a Sistine master. An eternal silence, lasting seconds but feeling like a lifetime, passed before she spoke, "I am Jenna Monahan, Becky is my mother." Her hand was warm and moist from tears as he pulled her to her feet, free of the secret cloister into the vast cold church's chasm that echoed of sermons, sins, weddings, and death. In one hand he gripped the flogger while the other clutched her firmly, pulling like an elastic umbilical cord, as her inappropriately chosen high heels struck the floor with the force and sound of ten jackhammers. "It's your fault, your sin, your love of my mother that brought me to you. She loved you and you abandoned her for this, for god, for nothing." Tears flowed freely down Jenna's face, her tear-choked voice reverberating into the still, cold, lifeless air. "She loved you and needed you. I need you...I love you," her words flowed with her tears as her half-compliant body struggled in the direction of the small side-altar. It felt immediately warmer from the rows of glowing candles supported by a massive wrought iron stand on the other side of the immense wooden altar rail. Confessional Leaning in over it, Father Tom released her hand and pressed it to the edge of the stand. Her feet instinctively spread to maintain balance as the wide rail pressed the front of her thighs. Arching her body over it, Jenna leaned in on her toes and grasped the sturdy metal stand with both hands. Gift-wrapped and God given, Father Tom pulled on the end of the bow, releasing it from the belt loops with a hiss of fabric from around her waist to securely bind her hands to the metal bar. "Don't speak my child, it is only through pain and suffering that we are entitled to God's grace and mercy," Father Tom gripped the zipper and pulled it down as the top of Jenna's dress fell to her waist, exposing her naked young bosom and back. He raised her skirt and tucked it in around the waist, just behind the zippers final resting place. He was greeted with unblemished porcelain flesh, from the top of her back to her naked quivering ass...a beautiful canvas. Gasping softly as she felt him exposing her. She'd longed for this moment and as she heard him recite his mantra, she gripped the railing tighter and readied herself for the kiss of his well-used instrument. "Blessed be pain! Glorified be pain! Sanctified be pain!" The first lash landed with a loud swish across the top of her arched back sending her into a cocoon like tortoise shell exposing sinuous muscle groups surrounding her traceable spinal column countable by vertebrae. Her body lurched and a searing pain erupted across her back, the tails leaving a blazing trail upon her flesh. The sting against her flesh was nothing compared to the burning need within her soul. She welcomed the pain and ached for more. He brought his arm up ready to land another blow and as he did, he witnessed the effects of his first swing. The sight inflamed him, an empowered feeling he never encountered rose up from deep within. His finger curled tighter around the handle with a sense of determination. He would teach this sinful girl, show her God in the kiss of his flogger and enjoy every minute. He brought his arm down, landing the tails just below his first swing. The flesh drew up, red and slightly angry, but her response was what drove him. Her body arched against the stinging kiss and the moan that poured from her delicate throat was a blaspheming testament to God. She trembled against the railing, her lust building as the sting burned through to her molten core. Huskily she whispered, "Harder Father, teach me God's forgiveness through pain." He needed no further invitation, as he relentlessly brought the flogger down against her body, releasing years of dissatisfaction. He covered her in stinging kisses, reddened her flesh and in doing so brought the devil. She squirmed and moaned as he unleashed his pent up frustration. Her pussy swelled and her scent grew as Father Tom pelted her. The grunts and moans that echoed throughout the church were animalistic, lusty and filled with an energy that could only be described as divine. His cock throbbed behind his robes; sweat covered Father Tom's heated face as he looked upon her fiery body. Shedding the cumbersome material and underclothes, his rigid member sprung free, hard and aching, as it stood erect. Her scent shrouded him and his eyes were drawn to her widely spread thighs. Her desire glistening and her swollen cunt ready to receive his cock. Should he plunge it into her? She looked back over her bare shoulder at the Priest, the man, that Becky had loved, who she loved and whispered a single word, "Please." Her plea pushed aside any thread of doubt he might have harbored. He moved forward, the flogger, now hanging limp at his side. The heat rising from her flesh was overwhelming as it drew him in. He dared to touch her flaming flesh, his fingertips lightly moving over her trembling bottom. The last vestiges of his vows, lost in the pliant and willing woman before him. She gasped softly as his icy fingers moved slowly over her heated flesh. She felt as though every nerve ending was electrified and hypersensitive. Even in her bound and awkward position she managed to push her ass out, silently offering and praying he'd accept. His voice was low as he growled, "There is no turning back Jenna." The flogger thudded against the floor as he stepped between her creamy thighs, his cock brushing against the heated wetness residing there. She moaned as she felt him step closer, whimpered as his steely member brushed her aching sex and waited as patiently as she could for him to drive his cock into her wanton belly. His fingers curled tightly into the hot flesh of her hips, his cock twitching and pulse racing. He knew once he impaled her, he would forever be changed but he was willing to accept the consequences, including damnation, if that was God's desire. His right hand moved and grasped his engorged cock, lining it up at the seeping entrance of her sinful hole and thrust. He filled her easily, her wet cunt hungrily devouring him and for the briefest of moments, he felt like Adam experiencing Eve for the first time. She cried out, not from pain, but from the sheer pleasure of being filled by the one man she'd grown to love. Her cunt spasmed around his cock and the orgasmic tension she'd been holding back erupted. She bucked and writhed as her cunt wept in satisfaction, spilling her essence out around his cock. He felt her pussy tighten then convulse on his cock. Her scent coated him as it spilled out and dripped onto the floor. The cry that pierced his ears was filled with so much emotion he could hardly bear it, but he steeled himself and began to move. Thrusting deep and hard, driving her orgasm higher. He ached to join her in orgasmic bliss, but the feel of her lava-like core was so incredible he willed himself to hold back, if only for a moment longer. She panted joyfully, "Love me Father. Drive you throbbing cock deeply in me and don't look back. Fuck me Father!" She pushed him, intensifying the moment with her trashy words and panting voice. He moved hard and fast, taking her, claiming her. He pounded into her body, his cock delighted at being wrapped in such warmth and wetness. He breathed in her scent as he panted and groaned in ecstasy. His finger dug deeply into her flesh, adding to the brilliant redness already there. She met his thrusts with enthusiasm. Tightening her cunt around his plowing cock, driving him with her own body. The sound of flesh meeting flesh reverberated throughout the church, staining its purity, guttural voices adding to the concert of depravity. Her pussy contracted again, sending her into the inky oblivion of pleasure. She ground her ass hard against him as her moans and cries filled the gothic gloom. "You like that Jenna? You like being fucked by me? You like tempting the devil?" He pounded into her roughly, his questions rhetorical, his own depravity overcoming his sensibility as he felt the familiar tingling in his aching balls. "Yes...yes...yes," she hissed out as she floated in the continual orgasm that quaked through her. The moment was upon him, his balls tightened and drew up and with one final thrust his seed was released into her accepting body. He painted her as his cock spewed forth and his voice rang out in a triumph he'd only imagined, like David conquering Goliath. He knew that he could never again stand before his congregation with any semblance of purity and chastity. He was forever stained and consecrated in the flesh. Once his cock had spit the last of his seed, he moved back, his withering cock leaving a trail of wetness against her thighs. He looked upon her, this girl, this soul that tempted him and awakened him. He moved to untie her hands, and helped her to sit on the marble of the altar. His whisper bordered on regret, "Why Jenna? Please tell me." "Because I love you Father. I always have and I need you. I grew up with my mother's memories, her stories and her love for you that she expressed until the day of her death. You were the husband she longed for, the father I never knew, and the love I am not going to be denied. I love you Father Tom." "From now on it must be Tom and I will be there for you as I had longed to be with your mother. I should have sought her out but I feared that my love for her would be more harmful than beneficial. I have denied myself and in so doing denied my nature as a man. I love God, but I am also a man and through you I can have both." Confessional My darling Anthony, The phone rings and it is you. That is how it always starts. I have promised myself in the days since you last came here that I must not let it happen again. I have sworn to myself that when your call comes I will not respond. I hate myself for what we have done. I hate our betrayal and the lies we have told. I hate my hunger and my greed. As I pick up the receiver I have told myself to refuse you and to tell you not to come, but know that I will not. I will go to my room and change. I will dress in the clothes I know that you want me to wear. The same clothes I was wearing the first time it happened between us. I will choose the black underwear and stockings. I will put on the simple black dress that I wore on that day. I will wear red lipstick and red nail varnish. I will do this because I know you want me to, even though I will have told myself that nothing must happen between us. As I hear your car arrive I will experience the nerves and anticipation that I have felt so many times before. As you enter my home the knowing looks between us will tell silently of what is to come. I will try to purge that from my mind and try to block the physical presence of you from my senses. But no matter how hard I try to stop it, the loneliness inside of me will cry out for your attention. An empty life and empty bed, a vacuum that only you can fill. Now that you are near to me I ache to be touched by you and to feel your caress. Down through the years there has always been this unspoken knowledge between us. Sometimes a passing touch, a brush of our bodies or a connection of our eyes. We never spoke of it, never dared explore it, but we felt its strength. A feeling born of a natural caring and warmth, but tinged with something else. The years of knowing between us finally reaching out and pushing us down into this drowning pool of sexual need and fulfilment. And so, as I turn my back to you now, I wait for you. I know you will step behind me and hold your hands to my waist. I will feel the tenderness of your embrace and I will close my eyes. I will have promised myself that I will stop you and tell you to leave but it is impossible to force the words from my mouth. I will feel your arms fold around me and touch to my breasts as the softness of your mouth presses to my neck. Even through the fabric of my dress your touch arouses me instantly. I flush with shame as I know you can feel my nipples hardening and inside I surrender to the now familiar acknowledgement of what you want from me. This is how it was the first time. On the night of my husband's funeral. Wearing these clothes that symbolised my grief, I took comfort as you held me in your arms. After denying it for so long I submitted to the same desperation for you to be inside of me that I feel now. As or mouths touched and your hands searched me, I felt the inevitability of what we were doing just as I do now. As you laid me on the bed and pushed my dress up around my waist, I was the one that reached to pull away my underclothes. I made that choice. I was the one who begged you to break down the invisible barrier that nature put between us. And so now it is me who leads us to the bedroom. This is the movement that I have sworn should not occur again and yet I see that I have already drawn the curtains and turned back the covers in readiness. We stand together and kiss again. The heat of our mouths is violent now. Hungry and unsubtle. Both of us eager for what is to come. I sink to my knees as you gently guide me down. I look up into your face as I unfasten your belt and loosen the front of your trousers. I stare at you and know that I should see an unwillingness in your eyes. I should hear you tell me to stop and that this is wrong. But I know that you crave this from me as much as I need to give it you. You wait for me. Wait for me to take you in my mouth. As I lick you and press my lips to you, it is almost like taking wine and biscuit at a confessional. It is nearly religious, a ritualistic gesture and a sombre illustration of the depth of my sin. Taking the fullness and warmth of your erect penis in my mouth, I feed on the thought of your eyes looking down towards this. I feast on the thrill of you seeing my lipstick against your skin as I work my mouth over you. I hear your sharp exhalation of painful delight as I draw you in. I know that the thought of this will disgust me afterwards. I will cry myself to sleep and pray for forgiveness but, in this moment, I want this completely. I am aware of your movement as I suck you. The slight sway of your hips as you enjoy the sensation and gently begin to fuck my mouth. To my side, I catch sight of us in the full length mirror. A handsome and strong young man of twenty five. A man with his own beautiful wife and children. A man who should be at home with them but who instead is here with me. A fifty five year old widow in a black dress, stockings and suspenders who lives her life in a bleak and lonely world, who can only come alive when she kneels in front of you to perform this act of fellatio. I see you looking down towards me, your hands resting on my head as we both move slowly to create your pleasure through this connection. It will be you who will break free from this. You who reaches down to my arms to pull me up towards you. It should be now that you hold me and tell me that you are sorry. But instead, I know that you will lie me on the bed. As you move your head down to take what you want I feel the press of your mouth against the wetness of my underwear. Whatever is good and pure in our lives is meaningless now. I know that I should push your head away from me but I do not. Instead, I lift my waist to let you drag free the remainder of my clothing and feel the exquisite sensation of your lips as they brush and kiss against my naked opening. The rhythm of your tongue against me touches the deepest parts of my sexual psyche. These are the places that were hidden from my husband. My excitement is provoked and stirred by the knowledge that you are the only man that has ever shared this part of me. You are the only person who knows how I will push myself towards you, imploring you to give me this. But it is only when you raise yourself to enter me that the totality of what we our doing erupts into my consciousness. As you push yourself into me I cry out. Every time this happens I relive the mental shock of feeling you invade me for the first time. The hardness of you and the way that you seem to fit so perfectly inside of me made me realise that this was meant to be. No matter how many times I tell myself that this is wrong I can never deny this perfection. It is only when we are making love like this that I am certain we were born to be together in this way. Whatever cruel twist of fate made this so wrong becomes meaningless as this feeling of sexual wholeness returns. The rough stroking of your penis so deep inside of me makes me come quickly and savagely. It is not because you have taken the time or care to give me this gift of sexual love. Neither of us cares about the satisfaction of the other as we do this. We are taking what we want without thinking or attention to any need but our own. The thrusting movement of your body, coupled with the knowledge of our immorality, frees my orgasm. It has taken me my whole life until now to find out that you are the only one that can create this with me. The very fact that what we are doing is so wrong emotionally, and yet so right physically, is the key to this secret part of my imagination. It as you press yourself to me and release your own orgasm that I feel just a fleeting few moments of loving intimacy and tenderness between us. In those few seconds, I feel a need to hold you close to me. My instinctive love for you floods through my mind and mixes strangely with the eroticism of our sex. Then as you separate your body from mine and the sensations fade, I am left with the terrible reality of what we have done. As I lie and watch you dress I hate myself. As you bend to kiss me lightly on the cheek and turn to leave I realise what we have done. Two people who should share the most loving and precious bond, but who choose instead to explore this dark and dangerous world. It is when you are gone that my tears will come and I will swear that this must never happen again. I will promise myself that this is the end. Until the phone rings and it is you. That is how it always starts. Please forgive me, my darling son. Mother. X Confessional Fun You stride into my confessional as rebellious as always. Dressed in a tight t-shirt and jeans that accent your delightful curves. I shake my head, I should not think these thoughts, your cap on at a stylish angle you slowly sit next door. I listen as you begin confessing, you describe what you have been doing online. I listen in shock as you describe what you have a said and done with a man that is almost a complete stranger, how you have flashed your breasts over the internet, how you have described fucking him and sucking him and taking it up the ass. I gasp out loud as you continue to describe. I find that I am getting hard in my robes, I cannot believe what you are doing to me, I try to focus but all I can think about is you displaying that sexy body to men. I try to be disapproving but find myself wondering what your pussy would feel and taste like. You hear my gasp and peek round at me noticing the bulge in my robes. You grin as a wicked thought enters your head. You reach round and before I realize what you are doing you have begun stroking my shaft through the cloth. I groan, trying to tell you to stop. You quickly move and pulling the robes apart you slowly lower your head to my trousers. Unzipping my pants you fish my cock out, I groan as your mouth is lowered over my shaft. What am I doing, this can't be happening? I find myself reaching down and gripping your breasts, I squeeze your nipples through your top, realizing you don't have a bra on gets me even harder. I slowly pull your top up over your head; your breasts spring free, bouncing up and down as they do. I grin and feel my cock begin to pulse, you gasp as streams of hot cum begin to fill your mouth. You greedily suck all my cum down, your breasts swaying as you move back and forth over my rod. I slowly pull out and watch as a string of cum drips down your chin; you pull it off and lick your fingers clean. I am to far gone to back out; I pull your jeans down and your thing with it, marveling at your lovely shaved pussy, the lips gleaming slightly in the dim light. I make you sit on my chair in the confessional and kneel between your legs, licking slowly over your soft lips, flicking my tongue back and forth whilst my cock slowly hardens. I listen to your soft moans as my tongue slowly probes the inside of a woman's cunt for the first time ever, I flick the tip over a small nub I know is called the clit and feel your legs tighten around my head as you gasp, I do it again and realize you love it. My cock is now so hard, I want to take you now, I pull away and kneeling before your legs ram my hard shaft deep into your sensitive tight pussy. My large cock spearing into you splitting you apart as I fill you, stretching you wide apart. You moan out loud, biting your lip as you feel my hard shaft invade your tight wet hole. I listen to your moans and they spur me on, I begin thrusting my shaft back and forth into your hot hole. My hands reach down and grasp your hips, my shaft plunges in and out of your tight pussy, I groan at the feeling, this is the first time I have ever felt anything so good. I fuck you harder and faster, my cock ploughing in and out of you. I lean down and fasten my lips over your nipple on your left breasts, my teeth grazing it as I fuck you hard and fast, I quickly swap to your other nipple, licking and sucking as hard as I can. My cock pounding you, we rock back and forth together. It's a good thing the church is empty as your orgasmic cries begin to fill, echoing from the rafters. I can hear your cries filling the place with music sweeter than any hymn, I fuck you hard, deep strokes, filling you over and over, I can feel your pussy tighten around my shaft as you cum. Your eyes are glazed as I fill you over and over, harder and faster, your body shakes from the intensity of your orgasm as my shaft continues to plunge in and out of you, I cry out as I cum, I pump my shaft deep into you, my hot cum blasting deep into your womb as I bury my cock deep inside you holding you to me.